


the world around us is burning but we're so cold

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas AU, I Make References To Good Things, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4022839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hi! Welcome to Habitual Readers! Can you please take your shoes off before you come in?"</p><p>or where there's a blizzard, Louis can't make it home for the holidays, and Harry owns the only shop open on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world around us is burning but we're so cold

**Author's Note:**

> Beyond old again. Another Christmas-y thing again. Ugh. 
> 
> This is from two winters back and I had it posted on here for a while, but took it down for major reconstruction. 
> 
> It's back. 
> 
> I bash on Americans, but it's okay. I'm an American. I know what goes on. 
> 
> Sort of mild make-out session, but it's barely anything. Don't fret over it. 
> 
> Title from Fairly Local by twenty one pilots.

 

Louis hates snow.

It's not a new development or some big epiphany he has. It's just a fact, like that he's 5'9, or has blue eyes.

He hates how it looks so clean and pure but it's really dirty and mucky, clinging to germs and filth. He hates how it melts in his hair, how it turns yellow with dog piss. But mostly he hates how it disrupts travel.

For Christmas, he was supposed to see his family, but that isn't happening. No, now he's stuck in London on Christmas Eve with nothing to do and no one to see.

All because of a fucking snowstorm.

It's Louis' luck, honestly.

So he pulls on his boots, zippers up his coat and heads out in search of something to distract himself from his misery.

And he finds it, eventually, in a small book store hours later.

The snow is heavy and wet on his head and slippery under his boots as he enters the tiny building, sky a soft grey.

The first thing he notices is that it smells like leaves. Like autumn and soft cinnamon cookies, the first cup of holiday tea.

_It's beautiful,_ he thinks as he eyes the shelves. Beautiful and minute.

The second thing he notices is the boy running toward him.

"Hi!" The boy says, grinning wildly. "If you don't mind, could you take your shoes and coat off there? So you don't muck up the place?"

"Usually shoes are required for service, but sure." Louis says, shrugging.

The boy's beautiful, too. Prettier than the book shelves, definitely. Long brown hair, brilliant green eyes. Like a fucking painting, he is.

"Welcome to Habitual Readers." The boy says, voice deep and voluminous.

Like molasses or honey or something that's gooey and moves slowly.

"I'm Harry."

"Louis." He says, stepping out of his boots.

He's wearing a pair of jeans and a Green Day shirt. Not his best apparel for meeting extremely hot boys, but he'll manage.

"What brings you here on such a celebratory day?" Harry asks, nodding toward the stacks.

Louis isn't sure why, but he follows.

"Roads are closed leading to Doncaster...so I've got no one to celebrate with." Louis shrugs as if it isn't a big deal.

But it is.

He's deeply saddened that he won't be seeing his mom and his sisters. That he won't be able to tease Lottie about some new boy she's seeing.

He's absolutely distraught.

"How about you, Book-Boy? Why are you working on such a celebratory day?"

"My parent are dead." He says casually. "Sister hates me. So I stay open on Christmas for the lonely travelers."

Louis problems seem so ridiculous to Harry's. Wow, Louis is a brat.

"Good thing, too. Otherwise I'd be sitting in some shitty diner, drinking shitty coffee, listening to shitty Christmas music." Louis scoffs. "I could drink shitty coffee at _my house."_

"You could drink shitty coffee here, if you'd like." Harry offers. "'Sanctuary for all. Community for all'."

"'Those who arrive, survive'." Louis quotes, grinning wickedly.

He fucking loves The Walking Dead. Even if it's an American show.

"Your televisional knowledge is on point, my friend." He says, nodding approvingly. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Louis says, laughing.

This kid is the _best_!

"Supernatural. Fantastic." Harry laughs, tugging a book off the shelf and placing it on another.

"Doctor Who?" Louis asks, unsure.

Is he just commenting on the complete fantastic-ness of Supernatural? Or is he referencing Eccleston?

"Nine's my favourite." Harry grins. "Wasn't sure you'd catch that one."

"Bet your ass I did. Eccleston is mine, as well."

Louis reaches out, fingers grazing the covers of the dystopian books lined there.

"Let's talk movie adaptations." Louis says, pulling out a copy of Divergent.

"Eight of ten." Harry says, twisting his mouth in an obscure way.

"Same. Theo James made an amazing Four."

"He's hot as hell, too."

"That helps." Louis assures.

Harry grins and picks a book of his own. Catching Fire. Louis has this in the bag.

"Nine point six." He adds, precise.

"Why not a ten?"

"They took out the Gale and Katniss scene where he's like I love you and she's like I know."

Louis is very picky, especially when it comes to something as important as Gale and Katniss' relationship.

"I give it the same...but only because they screwed up the ending."

Louis remembers.

"Fair enough."

|-/

It's six o'clock when Louis realizes he should get going.

He's had three mugs of tea and maybe a few shots of whiskey. But he's definitely not drunk. Not at all.

"I should get going." He says, lazy grin on his lips.

"You're drunk. Let me call you a cab." Harry stands with him, a little tipsy himself.

Louis wishes he was coherent enough to walk on his own. Cabbies aren't nice to drunken people.

"I'm alright." Louis assures. "I'll be fine."

"No, you won't." Harry says, eyes wide. "You'll either take a cab or you'll stay with me. Simple as that."

"It's Christmas Eve, mate." Louis says, soft. "No cabs."

And it's true. The cabbies are probably with their families, baking cookies and writing letters to Old Saint Nick. Or they're getting drunk.

Either way they're not on the job.

"You'll stay here, then." Harry says. "Until you're sober enough to walk."

"Fair enough." Louis agrees, sitting back down in his seat.

He lifts his glass, half empty with whiskey, and knocks it back.

"Might as well get plastered." Louis says, grinning.

He's always been a drunken idiot. He rather likes it, if he's being honest.

"Fair enough." Harry laughs, sipping at his own whiskey.

"So, Mr. Book-Boy," Louis lazily says, pouring himself more to drink. "What's your name?"

"Harry Styles." He grins. "You?"

"Louis William Tomlinson."

"A royal name. Nice." Harry seems to have a grin permanently pressed onto his face.

It's beautiful.

"It's a pain, really. Last year, went to America and every bloody barista said Lewis." Louis rolls his eyes. "Pain in my ass."

_America sucks,_ Louis had decided, as his fifth tea came along with a sharp S and no culture.

"Americans are uncultured." Harry laughs.

"Yeah, you're right." Louis smirks. "Ever been?"

"Yeah. My mom...She's buried over there. Something about liking the view." Harry shrugs. "I don't know. We never really got along well."

"Yeah, same. But I still visit them because I love 'em, you know?" Harry nods, glancing away awkwardly. "Sorry, man."

"It's fine. It's been, like, seven years." Harry brushes it off.

Louis can tell it bothers him.

"A wound is a wound, Harry." He says. "No matter the size or the healing rate."

"That makes no sense whatsoever." Harry says and then laughs. "I like you, anyway. Even with your horrid analogies."

He raises his glass and sputters out a hearty laugh.

"And I just met you. I don't know shit about you."

"Well..." Louis is too drunk for rational decision making and proper sentence forming. "I'm Louis. I'm twenty-three and I live alone with a Dog named Dog." Harry snickers and Louis frowns at him.

Dog is a lovely dog.

"I hate the snow, I have a myriad of siblings and a single mother who all live in Doncaster with my step-dad. My favourite colour is green like moss and my favourite food is pizza with M&Ms. I'm five feet nine inches tall and I rather enjoy tea." Louis lists. "There. Now you know me."

"I have questions." Harry bites his lip, sipping from his cup. "Your dog is named Dog?"

"Yes, and she's very content with the name." Louis purses his lips.

"Alright," Harry grins, "but pizza? With _M &Ms_?"

"It's bloody fantastic, mate." Louis exasperates.

Louis is in love with M&M pizza. It is his life.

"Okay, then..." Harry pauses, making a strange face, "5'9?"

"I am 5'9. Shut up."

Harry laughs and then tells Louis about himself.

"Well, I'm Harry and I'm twenty. I live alone with two cats named Harley and Marley. Winter is my favourite season, I have one sister who loathes me, and my parents are dead. My favourite colour is blue like...like...your eyes, almost. Yeah, almost. My favourite book is all of them and my favourite movies are the Final Destination films. I'm six feet-ish. Not really sure. And I'm not into girls sexually."

"Cool, man, but I've got my own questions."

Louis' fuzzy brain isn't working correctly. His filter is gone. He's a toddler with the mental capacity of a grown man.

"Did you name your cats Harley and Marley on purpose?"

"No," Harry laughs. "I got them at the animal shelter."

"That's adorable." Louis grins. "How'd your parents die?"

"Um..." Harry frowns. "I...They...Uh..."

"Never mind." Louis says, quickly. "You don't have to tell me."

"No, it's fine." Harry shrugs unconvincingly. "They were picking me up from a sleepover...it was foggy...they slipped off the road...died on impact."

"Oh," Louis says, flat. "Wow. Is that why your sister hates you?"

Louis is a drunken asshole, apparently. But he can't be bothered to care.

Harry gives him a peculiar look.

"Yeah. Blames me. Which, I mean, is acceptable and all. I was being a baby anyway." Harry shrugs, biting back a frown. "Wanted to come home because I was scared. It's all bullshit, honestly. My fault, though, definitely. If I'd just stuck it out--"

"Don't blame yourself. You were just a kid."

"I was _thirteen_." He says, enunciating. "I knew it was foggy. I knew it was risky. But I was afraid." Harry shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It does, though." Louis sighs. "It's not your fault that you were frightened."

"I was terrified." Harry says, works shaky.

It isn't Harry's fault. Louis just wants him to know that.

"Kids get scared. It's the parents job to un-scare them."

"Yeah, well, they never even made it to me." Harry says bitterly.

"But you're not scared, are you?" Harry shakes his head. "They did their job and you did yours. You grew up and became a wonderful man with a brilliant book store. That's all they'd want from you, Harry."

"Yeah." Harry says, soft. "Guess you're right."

He lifts his glass and downs the contents. He fills it again right after, swishing the liquid around and watching it splash against the sides of the glass.

"Anyway," Louis tries for a change of topic. "You're not into girls sexually? The fuck does that mean?"

|-/

It's nearing midnight when they finish Harry's supply of alcohol.

They are beyond tipsy, stumbling through the shelves and playing drunken hide and seek.

"One, two--ten!" Louis counts, eyes closed against a rack of Nicholas Sparks novels. "Ready or not, here I come!"

Louis stands up, glancing around for the bumbling idiot that is Harry Styles.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Louis chuckles, stumbling down the aisles.

He trips over his feet and falls onto his belly, laughing the entire time.

"Shit," he murmurs, feeling a flash of pain on his chin.

He hits it pretty hard on the carpet, but doesn't think much of it. Just continues looking for Harry.

He stands again and fumbles around blindly, calling out Harry's name until he hears him giggling from inside a closet.

"Ha! Found you!" Louis laughs, pulling the closet door open.

Harry's seated on the floor, legs crossed innocently.

Louis wants to wreck him.

"What a metaphor." He says drunkenly. "You're gay and in the closet. Literally."

"Shut your mouth." Harry pouts. "This is the good kind of closet."

"Yeah? How so?" Louis quirks a drunken smile.

"Come see."

Harry moves to the side, creating space for Louis' ass.

Louis tugs the door closed and sits down next to Harry on the floor.

"Look up." Harry whispers.

Louis glances up and gasps.

The ceiling isn't a ceiling at all. More like a sky light except the snow is gone.

"Why is there no snow?"

"It's heated so the snow melts off." Harry whispers.

Louis can see the stars and the few remaining clouds in the sky.

It's beautiful.

Louis glances back at Harry, feeling a weird urge to touch him.

"You're pretty." Louis says.

"You're prettier." Harry returns, instantaneous.

"You're prettier-er." Louis whispers, grinning sideways.

All he can think about is HarryHarryHarry.

Maybe it's the whiskey.

Most likely the whiskey, he decides as Harry speaks.

"Can I kiss you?" Harry asks, eyes wide and dark in the dim light from the outside.

"Sure." Louis says because why not?

Harry's hot. Louis's hot.They're both drunk and without inhibitions. It makes for a great combination.

Harry leans forward and kisses Louis lightly before pulling away.

Louis grabs Harry's face and smashes their lips together, this time harder.

Harry tastes like whiskey and sugar. His lips are soft and warm and Louis realizes he could get used to this. Kissing Harry, drunk as shit, winter sky barely lighting the edges of their bodies.

He leans back, pulling Harry over him, and grins against Harry's lips.

He's beyond drunk and his coordination is far from good, so when he reaches for the bottom of Harry's shirt, he ends up brushing his hand across Harry's cock, half hard in his skinny jeans.

Harry's eyelids flutter open and he gasps, breathing heavy.

"Sorry," Louis mutters, tugging on Harry's shirt.

Harry sits back to pull it off before kissing Louis hard.

Louis loses himself in Harry's roaming hands and soft lips, groaning drunkenly when he reaches to lift his shirt.

Louis pauses and thinks about what they're doing. They're both drunk. It won't be pretty tomorrow when Louis wakes with an aching ass and Harry wakes covered in Louis' come.

"Stop." Louis mutters, fighting every instinct that says enjoy it. "Harry, we can't."

"Why?" Harry kisses his neck, soft.

"We're both drunk. You'll regret it."

"No, I won't." He mumbles against Louis skin, lips slick and smooth. "I was thinking about asking you out for some shitty coffee, anyway."

"Really? Why?" Louis sits up, dick aching in his jeans.

He supposes that he should've worn looser pants.

"Because...because you're funny and nice and hot." Harry shrugs. "Plus you read and I'm blown away by your televisional knowledge."

"That's the best compliment I've ever gotten." Louis smiles. "Wow. Thank you."

"It's true." Harry mumbles. "I'm tired."

Jesus, the kid's going to be the death of him, Louis swears it.

"Yeah, me too."

Louis isn't tired. He's wide awake, high on whiskey and Harry's kisses and the beautiful white sky.

"I'm just gonna lay here...for a few minutes." Harry mumbles, laying his head down on his folded arms. "Promise that you'll be here when I wake up?"

"I promise." Louis assures and he isn't even lying. He doesn't want to leave. Harry's head lolls to the side, sleepily grinning at Louis.

"Night, Lou."

"Good night, Harry."

**Author's Note:**

> There's like ten references to shows and books, all of which I do not own. I do, however, enjoy watching them. 
> 
> Also, GalexKatniss is my shit.
> 
> Kudos and comments are endlessly appreciated xx


End file.
